


a little bit victorian (but a lot like scaling everest)

by Medie



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: M/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-22
Updated: 2012-02-22
Packaged: 2017-10-31 14:10:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/344898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medie/pseuds/Medie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, dealing with Finch feels like negotiating with an alien. Boundaries are delicate, fragile things that you don't so much breach as you coax your way around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a little bit victorian (but a lot like scaling everest)

Sometimes, dealing with Finch feels like negotiating with an alien. Boundaries are delicate, fragile things that you don't so much breach as you coax your way around. 

John long ago learned to celebrate the little things. The smallest piece of intelligence turning over the biggest of rocks, setting loose all sorts of secrets, but he's never had an assignment as circumspect as Mr. Finch. Describing himself as private didn't quite begin to cover it. Even if it weren't good business to, as Finch had once said, close the gap between their knowledge bases, John wouldn't be able to resist such a challenge. Finch is a closed system with information flowing between him and the Machine (even that a one way transfer) limiting John's victories to very small, very minute scraps of data. 

A reference to something as simple as Finch's favorite diner and his choice of breakfast felt like scaling Everest. The accomplishment was of similar magnitude, that much is certain. John orders the Eggs Benedict and savors every bite. It's just a simple meal in an even simpler restaurant; good food, yes, but the chef isn't good enough to justify the satisfaction that floods through him with each forkful of food. He'd like to call it the satisfaction of a job well done, but John's long past the point where lying to himself will ever be an option.

He knows Finch. This tiny piece of information is a window into the man. The relaxation of another boundary. Another border slipped through. Another invitation extended and that's it. The sweetest victory of all. 

In a way, the whole thing is backwards and upside down. He's been let inside the biggest of Finch's boundaries, the inner sanctum, but only just. There are limits, set ones, with Finch doing his best to quietly restrict John to them. He can know about the Machine, the numbers, and he can see Finch in the occasional unguarded moment, but that's all. 

Still, these tiny revelations feel like an invitation of sorts. Not necessarily an open door, but the tiniest of windows cracked if only just.

Baring the proverbial ankle. If this is a seduction (and it seems strange to think it, but, again, there are some lies John just won't tell himself, even if part of him is drowning in terror at the thought of it) then it is the most Victorian of them all. John doesn't understand how Finch reasons it, not yet, but he isn't surprised by that.

Finch is a brilliant man. The kind of brilliance that could be terrifying if he allowed himself to consider it and what its capable of. John tries not to think about that part too much, relegates it to the part of his mind that once held the motives and political leanings of his handlers, but he is attracted to it. Like a magpie on a shiny new dime. 

He doesn't think about what happens when he finally breaches the final boundary. He's not sure what he'll do when Finch finally does open the door and lets him in, but his blood heats all the same.

Smiling, John eats his eggs and savors the feeling. There'll be yet another mountain waiting for him tomorrow.


End file.
